


Hot in This Hell of Mine

by kolibris



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Pollen, Spoilers, Status Effects, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolibris/pseuds/kolibris
Summary: Ryuji is an unwitting victim of science fiction. It’s Akira’s job to help him get better.





	Hot in This Hell of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> HI HERE’S MORE PORN BECAUSE I LOVE BEING IN SEX POLLEN HELL. I’ve been sitting on this and some other WIPs for the last few months until I had time to finish them, so this is the first of a (hopefully) sizable fic dump!
> 
> Spoiler tag is for the fifth dungeon plotline. Enjoy!

All Akira wanted was for Ryuji to stay out of trouble for once. That wasn’t asking for much, was it?

Morgana was already way ahead of him; it only took the cat a quick hurdle over the fizzing metal hunk to get at Ryuji. “I told you not to rush in there, stupid!” he yelled. “Are you okay?”

Ryuji was aggressively wiping at his eyes, his mask pushed up all crooked. “No, I’m not okay! This freakin’ robot just blasted ass in my face!” Somewhere, Futaba erupted in a howl of laughter, which only made his rubbing more frantic. “It ain’t _funny!_ ”

They knew the spaceport was full of traps by this point, weird retro leanings that Akira could imagine seeing in some black-and-white movie, so Ryuji really should have been more careful instead of tearing around a corner and getting gassed in the face by a security robot. That was just the way he did things, charging in headfirst and then suffering the ridiculous consequences later.

“Hey,” he slapped Ryuji on the shoulder, “really, you alright?”

Haru slipped in beside them. “Oh, I can… you need an Amrita Drop!”

Ryuji could barely crack his eyes open to look at them, and maybe that redness would get better if he just kept his hands away from his face. “Just, shit, just gimme a sec—Noir, _chill_ , you don’t gotta bring out Surprise Lady Guns.” The blue glow left Haru, but her eagerness didn’t; she started brushing off Ryuji’s cheeks like there was anything there to remove. 

“Don’t be tough, let us baby you,” Akira said. He let his hand linger on Ryuji’s shoulder. It made himself feel better, if anything.

Ryuji did try to look tough, but his mouth quirked into something closer to a grin. “Dumbass.” 

Futaba’s head popped in under Akira’s arm and he nearly jumped; he hadn’t even heard her touch down. “Sorry not sorry for laughing, ‘cause a Dalek pepper-spraying Skull is the best thing I’ve seen today,” she quipped, with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Surprisingly, Ryuji didn’t bite. “Dude, what the hell even was that gas thing?”

“I dunno, it’s new to me too! I’ll look into it, but just be more careful, okay?” She gave Ryuji a knock with her elbow. “Figures you would be the one to get space cooties.”

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that if my face melts off,” he said, and Akira nudged them apart so they could finally get back on track.

‘On track’ meant navigating the endless hallways of those barracks and cutting down Shadow after Shadow in their path, while adjusting to the new normal of their target’s daughter fighting alongside them. Haru fell into her rhythm in battle so fluidly that Akira had no real cause for concern, but he still took it upon himself to make sure she had the support she needed as a new member. He knew how the rest of his friends fought; he could trust them to handle themselves — which was why he found himself surprised to see Ryuji already bracing himself up on his thighs after an easy fight, breaths running a little ragged.

“You need a break, Skull?” Akira asked, tucking his knife back into his coat. Ryuji’s own weapon was still clutched tight in his hand, like perhaps he didn’t trust himself to keep a good grip on it.

“Maybe,” Ryuji said, wiping at his face. He definitely looked like he did. “I feel like shitttttt.”

Even benched on the support team, though, he kept lagging behind the others, and it was strange enough for Akira to start keeping an eye on him. Time was a fuzzy thing in the Metaverse, making it difficult to gauge how long they actually spent there, but he was sure their infiltration didn’t warrant being that tired already. When Akira noticed that a hint of Ryuji’s limp even crept back into his step, he’d had enough. He gathered everyone back into the nearest safe room and helped prop Ryuji up on a stool.

“Okay, Skull,” Makoto said, Anat hovering bright above her, “tell me if this works.”

They all took turns trying their best curative magic on him but no luck, nothing seemed to provide the usual instantaneous relief. Akira even fed him one of Takemi’s priciest concoctions, some creepy liquid he had saved away for an emergency, which he regretted once Ryuji spit it back up onto the floor.

“I feel hot,” he finally said in a weak voice. He looked like he was melting in his leathers with the way he sagged in on himself, face flushed and sweat trickling down in little rivers, and Akira felt awful just looking at him. He was loath to admit it, but maybe Ryuji was honest-to-god sick in a real world way and whatever ailment they suspected was just a red herring. They’d had incredible luck so far in staying in good health; it was really only a matter of time before some horrible illness took one of them out.

Ann stood over Ryuji, wearing a brave face, but concern kept peeking through in her voice. “What should we do? Do we keep going? I mean, Mona said we’re still so far away from Okumura’s Treasure,” she said, and everyone’s eyes fell on Haru, who fidgeted under the sudden attention.

“I’m okay if we leave,” Haru said. “I don’t want to force Skull to be here if he’s really sick.”

“Perhaps he could rest here for the time being,” Yusuke mused. “We have never encountered shadows where the cognition is this weak, so it’s likely that he would stay safe from harm.”

It was a thought, but still something that made Akira uneasy. Another look at Ryuji was all he needed to make up his mind: “We’re getting out.”

Yusuke and Makoto gingerly helped Ryuji up out of his seat and over that expensive puddle on the floor, and Akira was right behind them until he noticed that Futaba hadn’t moved from her laptop.

“Come on, let’s go.” He tapped Futaba on the head for extra emphasis — sometimes she was so buried in that thing that she needed a little prompting — and she startled with a jolt. He almost said something but once he saw her face, mouth buttoned shut and cheeks pink like he’d never seen before, whatever words he had died in his mouth. 

She scrambled to her feet and stretched up on her tiptoes as close as she could to Akira’s ear. “Don’t say _anything_ ,” she bit out each word, “just talk to me when we get outside! Alone!”

By the time they made it back to the spaceport entrance, Ryuji had trouble even staying standing up, and the girls’ fretting over him grew even more panicked. Futaba stayed behind though, lurking in step with Akira’s shadow, and only when everyone’s attention was elsewhere did she let him approach her. That blush on her face hadn’t budged an inch and Akira still wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“Joker, I figured out what happened to Skull,” she whispered.

“Oh? Good.” Akira leaned in. “Wait a minute, why are you only telling me?”

“Because!” Futaba said. “Because… it’s embarrassing to say.” She lowered her head and started fiddling with her goggles. “But you’re a guy, you’ll get it. It, uh, looked like that gas attack had an effect after all, and it made him kinda... excited.”

Akira blinked. “What?”

“You know! It’s making him feel kinda frisky! Kinda hot and bothered! Kinda… ehhh, heheh,” she laughed forlornly in the face of Akira’s blank stare, “you’re really gonna make me say this...?”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Futaba grabbed her face in her hands and somehow glowed even brighter. “He wants to have sex!” she squeaked out. “It’s sex pollen, it’s freaky sci-fi mumbo-jumbo! This isn’t how it’s even supposed to work, I mean, how can a _robot_ —” 

“I don’t believe you,” Akira said too quickly, because that particular train of thought about that particular person was 100% off-limits.

She stomped her feet. “I’m not joking! Do you think I want to be joking about this? I don’t know how it works, but it’s true!”

“Tell me how that’s the case when he looks sick like that.”

“I said I don’t know!”

Frustrated, Akira roughly adjusted his gloves. “Well, we already tried healing him and that didn’t work.”

“Pfft, it’d be too predictable if it did,” Futaba said. “Listen, I think we can find a way to fix him up, but… it should just be us, ‘cause I’m not explaining this a second time.”

“What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

“Do you have to say anything?” Okay, there she was right. Maybe it wasn’t nice to keep everyone in the dark, but he wondered what Ryuji would want in a situation like this, what _anybody_ would want.

The rest of the team gave Akira an expectant look when he walked back over, and he eventually managed to convince them that yes, he’d take Ryuji home and yes, only Futaba and Morgana needed to come along with them and they could absolutely handle things themselves. When he hoisted Ryuji up in one swift motion and let him cling on for support, he at least looked the part of the capable leader who was going to fix everything.

“Thanks, man,” Ryuji said quietly. Akira caught the way his eyes looked for a second, strangely dark and heavy, and a shiver ran through him. 

On the streets of Roppongi, Akira quickly realized that his thin polo did little to block how unnaturally hot Ryuji felt against his skin. It didn’t feel like any fever Akira knew, but he let himself believe for a moment that Ryuji just came down with something funny, that Futaba had made a mistake even with all that arcane knowledge at her fingertips. The comfort didn’t last long.

“Poor Ryuji,” came Morgana’s voice from his bag, rustling on his shoulder. “Let’s get him back to his place.”

“Right, his place,” Akira said. Yeah, he _had_ said that, but now he had second thoughts. He could picture running into Ryuji’s mom and thinking about explaining all of this to her with the word _sex_ hanging in his brain was just mortifying. Not a chance. “...Maybe it’d be better if we took him somewhere else first.”

Morgana finally popped his head out and shot Akira a surprised look. “Like where?”

He racked his brain for options. Leblanc was still open, so that was out. Maybe Takemi could keep him at the clinic, he’d have actual medical supervision there, but wouldn’t she notice something was off if he started showing other… symptoms? He gulped a bit, imagining what those would even be—

“Duh, we need to go to my house,” Futaba said, and she was so smart sometimes that Akira could just squeeze her.

Stumbling around through the train station all together was bad enough, but the ride back to Yongen was even worse. It was the usual rush hour sardine tin Akira navigated with a cat stuffed under his arm, this time with the added pleasures of Futaba’s headphones jammed into his spine and Ryuji’s arm slung heavy around his neck, body radiating molten heat. It made Akira feel damp underneath his shirt, and he could only imagine what it must’ve felt like for him.

“I don’t feel s’good,” Ryuji slurred. Akira pulled him even closer.

When they reached Sojiro’s house, Akira was tempted to dump Ryuji right there in the entryway and collapse next to him, but he summoned one last ounce of strength and hauled him onto a couch in the back. Futaba busied herself kicking books and newspapers out of the way, and Akira found himself wishing she’d used that energy to help carry Ryuji too. Well, maybe not; she looked like she never lifted anything heavier than her noodle cups.

“This ain’t home,” Ryuji managed to croak out.

“We’re at Sojiro’s. I’m not taking you home yet.” Finally free to take a breather, Akira flopped down onto the floor. He was hot and sweaty and his shoulder felt weird without the extra weight, but they’d made it there in one piece so he had to be grateful for something. Now was their chance to actually figure out what to do with Ryuji, but Akira figured a quick rest wouldn’t hurt for either of them, although Ryuji had gone so quiet he might have already fallen asleep. Akira peeked up quickly to check.

Then he saw Ryuji’s erection, strained tight in his pants, and nearly hit the ceiling.

Maybe Ryuji just left something stuffed in his pocket but no, that was definitely his dick and he was definitely hard and Akira hadn’t even noticed; how long did they walk around like that for? Without thinking, he looked it over and traced its curve in fascination, until he thought he saw it _twitch_ and quickly tore his eyes away. He shouldn’t trample on whatever was left of Ryuji’s dignity just to indulge himself like that.

“Sorry Ryuji, I’m gonna keep you down here, okay? You’ll get nasty dude sweat allllll over my bed otherwise,” Futaba said. Somehow she didn’t notice; she was already taking off down the hallway somewhere. 

Morgana, thankfully short and thankfully just as oblivious, meandered by the door frame. “We have some time before Sojiro comes home. Are we keeping him here until then?”

“I don’t see a better option,” Akira said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. He definitely couldn’t explain this to Ryuji’s mom now. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Ryuji starting to squirm, hips moving in small undulations that were equal parts obscene and unfairly distracting, and he wondered how to explain this to anyone at all. 

Trying to be more considerate, Akira turned his attention towards listening to Futaba’s clanging around the house. He’d have to distract her with an apology for doubting her once she came back; that would probably smooth things over a bit, at least until she saw what was happening on the couch. As he carefully pondered over his choice of words, a small, stifled sound caught his ear, and he looked back. 

Ryuji was rubbing himself through his pants.

“Are you touching yourself?” Even whispered, it sounded too loud.

“Sorry,” Ryuji mumbled, ashamed, “sorry, sorry,” and he pulled his hands away, only to fumble at his belt with sweaty fingers.

“You can’t—you can’t do that right now. Futaba will see you.” Akira swallowed thickly, watching Ryuji’s fingers work. “ _I_ will see you. I’m literally right here.”

“Can’t help it,” Ryuji groaned, and before Akira knew it Ryuji had his erection out in his hand and he was touching it like he hadn’t even heard a word Akira had said, and Akira’s eyes went wider than saucers.

Futaba’s shriek snapped him out of it — damnit, what did he just say — and he whipped his head around in time to see her drop towels and ice packs nearly onto Morgana. “Oh my god!” she yelled, scrambling back around the door, and Akira quickly followed her. “Ryuji, you can’t fap on my couch like that! You’re never invited back here again!”

Morgana came running up too, fur puffed out like he’d had a tiny heart attack. “He’s doing _what_ now?”

“I don’t think he can control it,” Akira said to Futaba. “You’re right, he’s not sick. The Palace really did something to him.” Morgana looked even more confused, like he was expecting an actual explanation, but Akira wasn’t going to be the one to provide the gory details.

Ryuji made a sudden, rough noise and Akira jealously watched Futaba press the cups of her headphones tight against her ears. “Maybe he’s gotta get it out of his system,” she muttered. “And once he’s like wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, he’ll be back to normal.”

Akira looked hopeful. “You really think so?”

“That’s how it works in doujinshi,” Futaba said. He didn’t bother asking her to elaborate.

“...We need to give him some time alone then. Let’s just leave.” He already couldn’t take listening to Ryuji like this, his sounds growing louder and huskier from the room. He wanted to run right out the front door, far away from Ryuji and his busy hand and things he shouldn’t think about his friend.

“Futaba, will Ryuji be okay by himself?” Morgana asked.

“I guess so? He can entertain himself, at least. Unless… unless he gets more sick or something.” She scrubbed at her scalp. “Look! I don’t know! I don’t know what will happen or how long this lasts and I don’t know what to do with him! I’m sorry!”

“Easy, Futaba, don’t get upset. It’s not your fault.” He looked over at Akira and added, “I think it should be our leader’s decision what we do.”

Akira stared back hard. “You’re making this into a leadership thing?” 

“When it concerns a teammate’s safety? I sure am,” Morgana said. “We’re never affected outside of the Metaverse like this and I don’t like it. It’s your call, but I can’t say what good leaving him alone will do.”

_He’s not dying_ , Akira wanted to retort but, well, he didn’t know that for sure. After a Shadow once nailed him with a despair that crushed his will to live, he couldn’t argue against the existence of lethal sexual desperation. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll stay here with him. But by myself, okay? I need you guys to tell Sojiro I’ll be late coming home.”

“Thanks,” Futaba said softly, maybe for taking care of Ryuji, maybe for not having to go back in the room. Either way, she was out of the house with Morgana in tow with surprising speed. Akira, on the other hand, felt like he was making a death march back down the hall to that doorway, stomach mixing with dread and terrible excitement.

“Don’t go,” Ryuji called from inside, and Akira staggered to the couch with legs like lead. He was still pulling on himself with long, slow strokes while he stared off at some corner of the ceiling, eyes all hazy, and Akira went hot all over again. There was no getting out of it now; Akira would just have to stay there and deal until… until Ryuji finished up. He could relax if Ryuji got better. No, _when_ he got better.

Akira stood back from the couch, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “I’m not going, I’m staying with you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he said breathily. “Come closer.”

“I can’t stand there while you… do that.”

“Closer,” Ryuji said, so Akira sat on the floor, back pressed against the opposite end of the couch from Ryuji; that was the nearest he could will himself to go. It seemed to satisfy Ryuji though, because he stopped making demands and started stroking in earnest, rubbing his sneakers against Akira’s back. Akira numbly took the knocks against him and he tried very hard to trace the path of each hairline crack in the wall.

He sat like that until Ryuji pressed a foot out against him with enough force to almost knock his glasses off his face, and Akira finally had to lean forward and escape the strike zone. His concentration broken, he was free to pick up every movement of Ryuji’s hand in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to look, just a little bit.

“Ryuji, is this helping at all?” Akira asked.

No answer. Just heavy breathing and groaning, the odd sound catching in his throat. If Akira turned his head a little more, he could see Ryuji’s face, deep with color and pulled tight, and a little more than that let him catch his muscles flexing with tight movements, and after that...

Akira tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. 

Ryuji was so spaced out and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to watch some, to let himself have just one selfish moment of him like this. He brought his eyes over the rest of Ryuji’s body, down to his fist mindlessly pumping away at his cock; his own twitched in interest and he shifted uneasily in his spot. There was still time to look away again and give him some semblance of privacy, but Akira felt glued in place, watching like he wanted to burn it into his memory. Finally, with a shuddering exhale, Ryuji bucked up and gripped the base of his dick as it jumped with quick pulses. Akira swore he could see it throb from where he was sitting and yeah, he really was terrible for watching this so openly, there was no redeeming this. He guiltily turned away.

Akira noticed, however, that Ryuji hadn’t actually… nothing actually came out, but that was definitely an orgasm he saw; it was an odd detail that stuck weird in Akira’s head. Like he could really single something out here, he thought. Everything about this was weird. 

He edged closer to Ryuji, emboldened now that he was finally still and quiet save for his panting. No matter what, he still had to make sure Ryuji was alright. He froze in place, though, when Ryuji moved his hand again, working his dick with the exact same intensity as if he had never stopped. “You’re not done?” Akira said with a hitch of anxiety.

“Not there yet,” Ryuji mumbled, and if he had any reservations about Akira watching him jerk off before, they went unsaid. His eyes were open again and on Akira now, though, and Akira felt like he was under a spotlight, burning up with self-judgment.

“Is that—have you ever, uh, come like that before?” Maybe treating this like a mystery to solve would help, but it still ran a tiny thrill through him for even asking.

“Nah.” His hand worked his dick with the same punishing pace, slowing down momentarily only to twist slick skin around the head. “S’different. Feels like I’m stuck.” Okay, he could answer questions again, apparently, but the way Ryuji spoke with that detached quality to his voice wasn’t reassuring at all. Akira wondered how much of him was even present upstairs, because it didn’t seem like much.

Between that and his cock aching in his pants, Akira couldn’t handle it anymore; he screwed his eyes shut and just waited for Ryuji to be done with it already. It felt like an eternity, sitting there stuck in the cloud of heat hanging over them and hearing the lewd sounds of skin against skin. He didn’t dare open his eyes, not even when Ryuji dissolved into frustrated whines.

“What’s wrong now?”

“It’s stuck,” Ryuji said, and it didn’t make any more sense the second time around. “Shit, I can’t, I can’t—” 

Ryuji’s left hand shot out for Akira’s wrist and he roughly tugged it forward, trying to force Akira’s fingers around his dick. “What are you _doing?_ ” Akira balked, and Ryuji caught his hand again when he jerked it away, his nails digging in hard enough to hurt.

“—Help me, help me, Akira, come on.” They wrestled over it until Ryuji pulled with such strength that Akira finally let him squeeze his hand tight around his cock. Ryuji felt hot and thick in his grip, like he could pop any second, and Akira bit back a noise at the sensation.

“Okay, okay, just...” Akira said, trailing off at Ryuji’s desperate yanking of his hand. He started stroking fast to get him to stop and Ryuji crooned out such a loud sigh of pleasure that he decided not to finish his sentence. It was for the best, Akira figured, because he honestly didn’t trust anything out of his own mouth at the moment.

If only Ryuji could keep quiet, too.

“You didn’t leave me,” he said, almost reverent, like it was some incredible realization he’d just had. “You didn’t… you’re still here.”

“Come on, stop talking.” Nervous, his grip slipped tighter and he ignored how quickly Ryuji’s hips snapped up in response.

“Next to me,” Ryuji moaned, “in your place.” No, he couldn’t use those same words, not when he was like that; a warm recollection that Akira held close, made him feel fluttery and full of wishful thinking, all twisted up by dark, dilated eyes and a far-away voice.

“Seriously, shut up.”

“And you... you look real fuckin’ _good_ right now.”

“Ryuji!” Akira shouted, and Ryuji writhed like— like he liked the sound of his _name_ and Akira couldn’t go on like this. Ryuji wasn’t in his right mind, he couldn’t be held to anything he said, so Akira reading too much into it was pointless. He had to get it over with. He doubled his tempo and ducked his head down so he wouldn’t have to see Ryuji claw at the couch in feverish ecstasy. It worked up until those same hands found their way to his polo, curled themselves in the fabric and pulled forward hard, lurching Akira just above Ryuji as he came again with a long, loud cry.

Ryuji went slack, but Akira felt more keyed up than ever, his whole body buzzing with adrenaline and arousal. He let go of Ryuji to — not to touch himself, no, he wouldn’t do that even if right now he really, _really_ wanted to — to give him some space, put some distance in-between them, but his body refused to move. Thoughtlessly, he ran his hand up Ryuji’s stomach, searching for mess and finding none.

Dry, again? A small spark of panic hit Akira. Was Ryuji still… ‘stuck’? He got his answer when Ryuji rolled his hips up again, his unflagging erection knocking stickily against Akira’s arm.

“What the hell, why isn’t this working?” Akira said.

Ryuji looked over at him with a steadily refocusing gaze, raking his eyes up and down Akira’s face. “I’unno.” They settled on Akira’s lips and Akira felt a rush go straight to his dick.

“You don’t feel better at all? Even a little bit?”

Ryuji gripped Akira’s shirt harder, rubbed his cock against him. “Why’d you stop?” 

“Because,” Akira wailed, “I can’t keep doing this and we’re both gonna regret what happens, so—” he moved to pull away but Ryuji tugged him back, closer to his flushed face bitten from orgasm, and this was so, so bad, “—so let _go of me_.” 

He thrust himself backwards as hard as he could, taking Ryuji halfway off the couch with him, and they tussled together onto the floor. He kicked against the floor to try and scoot himself away — the momentum wasn’t there, the half-formed thoughts of what would happen if he stayed put stunting his strength — and Ryuji was on him in an instant. Akira’s head swam from the sudden oppressive heat and needy cries of ‘ _please_ ’, and his willpower stretched thin as paper. He wiggled his legs out in one last-ditch effort before Ryuji pincered one between his, and he sunk down on Akira’s thigh with a loud groan, his dick rubbing insistently above the waist of Akira’s pants and leaving a slick on his skin. 

Akira should have moved again. Instead he hooked his arms behind Ryuji’s neck, drawing his head down low until they were close enough to feel each other’s panting breaths.

“You got eyelashes,” Ryuji said, “like a girl’s.” He wet his lips and Akira’s suddenly felt too dry. “You kiss like one?”

He leaned in and kissed Akira hard on the mouth, no grace or gentleness, but it snapped that last thread of self-restraint he had all the same. Akira kissed him back hungrily and the husky noise Ryuji made in the back of his throat in response chased off any doubts he had left.

They were going to _do_ this.

Them pressed together was so good, better than anything he ever came up with in his own head, and Akira greedily gave himself everything he ever wanted to do to him: tugs at his hair, fingers scraping down his back, and Ryuji moaned through it all like it was the best goddamn thing he ever felt. He pulled and sucked at Akira’s lips so relentlessly that it took Akira a few tries to break away before Ryuji started mouthing somewhere under his chin and he could catch his breath.

“You feel… good, really good,” Akira whispered out.

Ryuji buried his face into the crook of his neck. “You do too,” he said, breath hot against his skin, and Akira’s chest wound up way too tight.

He tried to unbutton his pants but, unable to maneuver his hands around Ryuji’s enthusiastic grinding, grabbed onto his back and settled for the clothed friction against his cock instead. Things like where and how he would come were a dwindling concern anyway; he just _wanted_ to, already so riled up that he needed to get there, fast.

And Ryuji just so happened to — or maybe he did it on purpose, Akira let himself think, like Ryuji cared for his pleasure too — lick a teasing stripe close to his ear and breathed something Akira thought sounded like his name, and the ripple he felt when he came was harder than he’d ever felt in his life. He shook and held on tight as Ryuji rode him all the way through it, then past it, until his nerves screamed from overstimulation. Just when he couldn’t take it anymore, Ryuji curved over his body and came with a yell, like his orgasm was wrenched out of him, and Akira felt the friction between his stomach and Ryuji’s cock go hot and wet. He collapsed on Akira with such dead weight that it unnerved him, and Akira rolled with him onto their sides to see that he was, somehow, still conscious. He held him there, waited for both their breathing to come back down, even as he shivered from Ryuji’s come crawling down his stomach in cool trickles to the floor.

Finally, Ryuji stirred, groaning so quietly that Akira almost didn’t hear him at first. He pressed his hand to Ryuji’s forehead, even that light touch enough to tip his head back and reveal his face — he still burned, but there was a welcome light to his eyes again under his heavy lids.

“Ryuji, are you okay?” He thought better of asking that when he could guess the answer, but it was already out of his mouth. “Never mind, you don’t have to talk right now.” 

Ryuji mumbled something under his breath that Akira couldn’t make out. “What?”

“The hell.” It was a hoarse whisper. “What the hell happened?”

“You… ” Akira started, stopped, considered what to even say. “You got sick. The robot, remember, in the Palace, you remember that?” He took the slightest movement of Ryuji’s head for a nod. “It gave you an ailment that… made you act that way. It wasn’t you, you couldn’t control yourself. But you sound better now and you look better now, so I... I think it’s all over. Right?”

“No, I mean...” His eyes looked red. “What’d I do to you?”

Nothing he didn’t already want. “Me? I’m fine; I’m more worried about you—”

“Ohhh,” Ryuji groaned, “oh man. Man, what did I—did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t, you didn’t, look, I’m okay.” He didn’t sound convinced with the way he carried on making frustrated, choked sounds, so after a moment’s hesitation Akira wrapped his arms around him — was this even okay for him to still do? But Ryuji melted into it so sincerely and completely that perhaps it made for at least one good decision that day, and he held him until he went quiet again.

“Thanks,” Ryuji eventually whispered, face too warm next to Akira’s neck. “For not leavin’ me.”

Akira kept his hands squeezed tight. “That’s what a leader’s for.”

**Author's Note:**

> If a robot can summon an anime space burger to kill me, it can make sci-fi sex gas. FACTS! (and thanks for reading)


End file.
